The right thing to do
by Michelle JAMES
Summary: SJR - Missing scene from 'Do the right thing', Season 3


**The right thing to do**  


By Michelle JAMES  
mjames@fbi-agent.com  
Copyright 2000  


Disclaimers : all these wonderful characters don't belong to me but to their creators. I guess I should say they belong to NBC but I don't think they belong to them any more. Anyway, I just borrow them for a while and I don't get any benefit, any money from this.

  


Rating : RG. SJR.   


This is my version of 'Do the right thing'. You have to admit there are not many SJR moments in this third season so, from just a little one, I wrote my vision of what this episode could have been ...

  


The conversation outside Andrea's apartment and at the end of the story come from the episode itself, thanks to Kim who transcribed them for me kindly ... ;)))))) Thx  


Oh ... One last thing : no song this time ...  


***  


The shot echoed in the little room, immediately followed by a loud thud.  


John still had his eyes closed, waiting for the shot, somewhat ready to die. He slowly reopened them and it took him several seconds to register that the thud meant he was still alive. After he uncrossed his ankles, he rested his upper body onto his heels then turned his head toward Andrea. The wall behind her was covered with her blood.  
She had shot in her mouth. The right angle. No chance.  


Realizing his hands were still handcuffed behind his back, he slid them beneath his body. He tried to stand up but felt dizzy. He put one knee on the floor in support when he felt the bile going up in his throat. He swallowed hard against it. He did not want this, not now. He shook his head to clear his vision then breathed deeply. He could feel this weird feeling inside him. Of course he had been afraid of dying. But more than that, it had raised old memories, awaken old wounds he wanted to forget. 

  


Suddenly, he heard the front door crashed and Bailey's voice filled the apartment. He pushed himself on his feet and regained some composure before facing him. At least just enough to convince everyone he was fine, like always.  


When Bailey saw John was alright, with a little smile, he slightly slapped his cheek while a cop was helping John with the handcuffs. Then John headed out to get some fresh air. The smell of blood and the taste of bile remaining in his mouth were not the best cocktail he knew about. He crossed Sam on his way out. They both managed a nervous smile, relieved though.

  


A moment later, John was joined by Bailey and Sam in the doorway while he was watching Andrea's body being carried away in a bag. The words which had been said a few minutes before were still haunting him, torturing him. His fixed glare did not escape Bailey's experienced sense of observation.  


"Take a few days off, then go see Thorenson."  


'Yeah, right ... Sounds exactly like what I need' he thought.  


"I'll be in at 9:00 in the morning and I don't need counseling."  


Sam just smiled. He was so stubborn.  


"It can help, John." Bailey added.  


John gave him an eloquent look then turned to Sam, a softer expression spread across his face.  


"You know in the middle of it, when I was trying to get into her head ? I felt a little like you" he said with a small voice and a hint of a smile.

  


Sam did everything she could to not hug him tight. She needed to touch him though. So she reached out and cupped his cheek.   
But soon his mood fell and he needed to escape. He needed to be alone, to face his inner demons.

  


"Well, at least she felt something for her old man ... At least she felt something" he dropped before walking away. He regretted it as soon as he said it. Not there, not then. It was better to forget.  


***  


John's apartment  
The same day, some time later  


John took a sip of his glass of whiskey then put it back on the coffee table and stared at it. This was his first glass. He only had drunk half of it. The taste it left in his mouth was not the one he remembered. And it did not have the effect he was expecting. 

  


He laid down on his couch, watching the ceiling. It had not been very difficult to get into her head. Even maybe a little too easy. Thinking about it, they looked alike. A lot. However there was one thing, one big difference : Andrea loved her father. She adored him, she did everything for him. Whereas John hated him. He did everything he could to be different, to rise against him. He could have done anything for his mother.   
His mother. He closed his eyes a moment then watched his glass again. Maybe it was for the best he could not drink it. If he could, he would have been too much like his father.

  


He was disturbed in his thoughts by a knock on his door. Grumbling, he shouted :  


" GO . AWAY ! "  


He put one arm above his eyes. All this thinking had brought too many pictures, old photographs of his past. Then he heard a noise. Grabbing his gun in his holster, he sat up in one motion and pointed it toward the origin of the sound. Only to aim at Sam who stopped in her track and was then staring at him, eyes wide open.

  


"Oh Christ Sam ... " He slumped back onto the couch while she was approaching. "I thought I had locked the door."  


She held up one hand, a single key hung to a key ring.  


" You gave me this, remember ?"  


He smiled just a bit.  


"Yeah ... sorry about that."  


She took off her coat and put it down on a nearby chair. Going back with John, she spotted the half empty bottle of whiskey. Her face became more serious and worried.

  


"John ... you know this is not the solution ..."  


John followed her gaze and his eyes settled on his glass.  


"I didn't drink half of the bottle ... I didn't even manage to drink half of that glass ..." There was kind of a resignation in his voice.

  


"Ooh ... " was all she managed.  


She walked around the couch and sat down beside him. She caressed his cheek lightly. His beautiful blue eyes were full of pain and sadness. Taking her hand, he slowly sat up and his lips came to rest on hers. He gave her a long and soft kiss. They stared at each other a moment, before he spoke :

  


"What do you think of a cup of coffee ?"  


She smiled. He loved her smile so much, it was just as bright as the day.  


"That would be great" she whispered back.  


He kissed her another time then stood up. He grabbed the bottle and the glass then headed towards the kitchen. She stayed on the couch, staring into empty space while her mind was wandering. She wanted to help him but did not seem to find how. 

  


" So ... how does it feel to be a woman ?"  


"What ??"  


"You said you felt a little like me when ..." she trailed off. It had been very hard for her to not show she was worrying that much for a mere colleague.

  


Staring at the coffee pot, he smiled, remembering her touch then. They were both quiet. Sam broke the silence. She needed to know.  


"What did you say to her ?" She was still staring into empty space while she was speaking.  


John came back in the living room with the coffee pot and two mugs.  


"I mainly try to talk her out of killing me !!"  


A joke, as always. His shield. It took Sam some time to uncover his tactics but she was soon able to recognize it every time when he was protecting himself.  
John knew her fairly well too. He had guessed the way she was heading to, and he was not sure he wanted to go there. But he also was aware that if there was someone he could - and should - talk to , that would be Sam. He did not have to wait too long.

  


"She did it because of her father, didn't she ?" she asked softly.  


That was straight, brutal. But it was the only way she would get a chance to make him talk about it. He avoided her eyes then poured the coffee in her mug. She saw a confirmation in this, a sign, and it incited her to go further. Sam was still sat on the couch, John opted for the window and leaned against the frame.

  


"You already have the answer ..." he said roughly.  


Sam winced inwardly. 'This is not going to be easy' she thought.  


"John ... you couldn't do anything to save her ..." But he did not let her finish.  


"How is it possible that someone who loves his father so much can be so cruel and harm so many people when I hate him and yet I ... I ..." He closed his eyes, obviously struggling with the words.

  


Sam finished the sentence for him " ... do the right thing."  


"I am not even sure I am doing the right thing ..." He sounded bitter.  


That really hurt. She could not believe she had just heard him say that. She stood up and joined him at the window. She put her hand on his arm to make him look at her.

  


"How can you say that ? You know you do. John, you are the best agent Bailey and I ever worked with. And I didn't get the chance to meet you when you were working with the APD."

  


"It was better that way, believe me. I ... It had been a rough time then." He added quickly then drank the rest of the coffee in his mug. He stayed silent, staring at the lightly brown liquid that remained there, obviously wrapped up in old memories. He was not exactly willing to let go but she was not exactly willing to give up either. She took his mug from his hand and sat it down on the window ledge. She studied his face while he was staring outside, to avoid her look, before speaking :

  


"Talk to me John. Let me help you heal."  


He closed his eyes again and shook ever so slowly his head.  


"I don't know if I can talk about it Sam." His voice sounded hesitant, as if he knew he was risking to hurt her with his words. But at that moment he was the one hurting, he even considered the possibility to tell her, after all the situation and the pain could not be worse. There was also a part of him he never talked anyone about and he thought he was not ready to let go yet. 

  


He turned away from her persistent gaze and headed toward the couch. He was hoping that, by putting some distance between them he would discourage her. She watched him moving slowly then declared :  


"I know you're hurting John. And you'll carry on hurting for days, for weeks ... perhaps for months. Talking about it won't make it worse. It will even loosen the burden you wan to keep inside you."  


He stopped in his track. He could have sworn, then, she had just read right through his mind.  
He sighed heavily. She joined him then took his hand to lead him on the couch. She sat down close to John, without touching him, just close enough for him to feel she was there in support. He was still quiet, staring ahead, not blinking.

  


"It was easy ... you know ... to get into her head. I could see in her eyes a pain which matched mine. But it was not fair of him to ask her to be a son."

  


Sam could hear in his voice he was blaming himself for something she could not quite assess.  


"It doesn't mean it was fair of your father to treat you the way he did."  


"I know. He has no excuses for what he did. And yet what he was expecting from me was legitimate." He paused. "After she had shot in her mouth, it dawned on me it really was my fault. All these years I've tried to believe it was not but it was."  


"John, your mother made her decision, she ..." He did not let her finish.  


"But it was because of me, because he beat me. And he hit me because I couldn't stand up to his level." He clenched his fists in anger and guilt. She gently laid her hand on top of one of his.

  


"I know how you feel John. You can't think like that. You have to move on and leave the whole responsibility with your father."  


He smiled ironically.  


"Easier said than done."  


Tears was burning the back of her eyes. He was hurting so much inside. But he did not let her help. She took back her hand and turned her head. She was ready to give up when :

  


"I killed a lot of people, you know. It is part of my job, but it does not make it any easier. I live with it." He swallowed with difficulty then resumed speaking. "I did not kill my mother. I know that. But I can't help thinking if I had pulled the trigger myself it would have been the same."

  


Sam opened her mouth to speak but he beat her on the line and held up one hand.  


"I know what you're going to say. You're going to tell me about Jack and the guilt you feel but it's different. I mean, Jack is not your father, you're not the same flesh and blood as him."

  


His voice was hoarse. He ran one hand through his hair. Sam was looking closely at his face, trying to read his emotions behind the mask he was wearing, like always. He spoke again.  


"I loved my grandfather as much as I loved my mother."  


Sam was shocked. He had never talked about other members of his family. She thought he just did not have others or did not know them. So she listened to him carefully.  


"When I was young, I used to spend every vacation with him ... at the cabin. While I was growing up, I didn't see him as much. And when my mother took me away, I just couldn't see him any longer. It was too risky for us as well as for him."

  


Sam did not say anything. But she was wondering why he suddenly wanted to tell her about his grandfather.  


"I've been in Atlanta for, what, 10 months when I heard he was dead and that he had given the cabin to me." He clenched his jaws. "I had lost the only other person I loved. I didn't get the chance to say good-bye to my mother as I couldn't say good-bye to my grandfather. And it was because I was running away from him."

  


"It is not a proof of weakness John." She tried to sooth him.  


"But the result is the same." He breathed hard, the feelings were too strong.  


Sam realized then why this case was affecting him so much, it had raised old and painful memories. And not only when Andrea shot in her mouth because he had not been able to talk her into some reason, but from the beginning when she had killed Mr. Andrews. 

  


She ran lightly her hand up an down his back.  


"I'm sorry John."  


"Don't be. That's the way it is."  


"You miss them, don't you ?"  


He closed his eyes again and lowered his head.  


"I like to think I don't miss anyone, not anymore. I've been living by myself for 10 years Sam."

  


"You're not alone anymore" she whispered back, then kissed him softly.  


"I know." He answered after breaking the kiss.  


She stared at him closely.  


"I have an idea ..." She trailed off on purpose.  


"About what ?" He asked curiously.  


"About what you could do which might do you some good."  


John smiled for the first time since she arrived.  


"You're reading in my mind ..." he dropped just before his mouth captured hers. He slowly laid her down on the couch, still kissing. Sam let escape a little laugh.

  


"Well ... I was not thinking about this but ... we can begin with that and I'll tell you the rest later ..." she whispered back against his mouth before pulling him back down with her.  


***  


The Andrews' house  
The day after  


John was walking up the stone steps of the house. He looked at the rose bushes which were surrounding the entrance of the house. He remembered the cabin when his grandfather was still living there. He loved rose bushes, there were plenty of them all around.

  


He hesitated for one second then rang the bell. The mother answered him, surprise crept in her eyes.  


"Mrs. Andrews. If you don't mind, I'd ... like to talk to your son." John asked nervously.  


She nodded slightly then opened the door wider. John walked in and past her. Mrs. Andrews closed the door behind him.  


THE END  



End file.
